


Verum

by Ignis (wingblade)



Series: In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Era, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, Pining, Requited Love, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/Ignis
Summary: “You know you have a license,” Ignis says, the sass in his voice evident, as if Noctis could have ever forgotten such a thing. Noctis keeps the plastic identification card in his pocket, and it is Ignis who is always reminding him to keep it with him at all times.“But I like it when you drive me places,” Noctis admits. After seeing Ignis’ video — his sex tape — he has lost the compulsion to retain any semblance of professionalism. His lips are loose, his tongue seeking fire, just waiting for the right spark.Continuation ofPrandium.





	Verum

**Author's Note:**

> I've been saving this story to post on mine and Noctis' birthday. Happy birthday, Noctis.
> 
> In my over fifteen years of writing fanfiction (closer to twenty now), this story has been the most enjoyable for me so far to both write and re-read countless times for revision. I hope even a fraction of that will pass on to you.
> 
>  **Part four** : the truth comes to light.

The night is chilly as Ignis drives Noctis home. The wind whips Noctis’ hair around, lifting it from his neck so that the cold air can meet the sweat accumulating there. Noctis had been out walking, his destination being anywhere, anything, anyplace; he had to leave his apartment. The weight of the images he had seen had grown too great.

Noctis looks at Ignis beside him, his gloved hands wrapped around the steering wheel — so careful, so firm. Ignis has not turned to look at him, not even a flicker of eyes and not even when the car pauses at a stoplight, but Ignis still straightens his back in the seat, aware that he is being observed.

“You know you have a license,” Ignis says, the sass in his voice evident, as if Noctis could have ever forgotten such a thing. Noctis keeps the plastic identification card in his pocket, and it is Ignis who is always reminding him to keep it with him at all times.

“But I like it when you drive me places,” Noctis admits. After seeing Ignis’ video — his sex tape — he has lost the compulsion to retain any semblance of professionalism. His lips are loose, his tongue seeking fire, just waiting for the right spark.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean...thank you.”

“That’s better.”

They sit in silence for the next mile or so, as Noctis marvels at how far he walked. He does not recall the journey out here having been so long; the last thing he can remember is when Ignis called him, demanding to know where he was. Noctis had sunk into his voice, appreciating Ignis’ concern more than ever at that moment.

“Ignis?” Noctis is looking out at the city of Insomnia, the tall buildings and wide intersections passing them by. “Are you happy? Satisfied? With your life here. With me.”

Unbidden, the memory of all those men come back to mind; they are blobs in Noctis’ vision now, formless and nothing — to him, at least. To Ignis, they could be everything. If this is the sort of companionship that Ignis desires, then there is no way Noctis could ever begin to compare.

Ignis looks at him now, a brief meeting of eyes, his brow furrowed in visible concern. He reaches out to touch Noctis’ shoulder, but his prince shrinks back against the door of the car.

“Nothing has ever made me more proud,” Ignis says, his voice steady, “than to serve you.”

 _You say that all the time_ , Noctis thinks. _Is that really all this is?_

They are coming up on Noctis’ apartment building; a mere handful of blocks away now, and Noctis thinks he might say something he will regret as Ignis drops him off. He would even have a few days to stew over his words before Ignis would forcibly enter his apartment with a week’s worth of food and garbage bags. Noctis opens his mouth, and the words threaten to spill over — he is not sure what they will be yet, but he knows there will be something.

Instead of pulling up to the front of the building to let Noctis out, Ignis parks in the apartment building’s underground garage. Ignis reaches between them and hits a switch on the center console, causing the top of the car to curl back over them against the windshield, leaving them in darkness.

The beating of Noctis’ heart seems much louder within the enclosed space of the car; it thrums in his throat, making him gulp down another breath of air. He looks outside, trying to gauge how quickly he can make it to the elevator if he hurries — and whether or not Ignis would bother coming after him.

“I saw it, you know,” Noctis says, wriggling in his seat. Everything is much too loud now: his voice, the groaning of the fake leather beneath him, the sound of his heartbeat, the quickness of his breath.

“‘It,’ being…”

Noctis’ hand is on the door handle, and he is testing it with his fingers; how much he can push on it before the car door swings open and he tumbles out onto the concrete. The line is very thin, he discovers, as the door finally makes that faint click as it opens a fraction of an inch.

Despite how Noctis imagined this ordeal would turn out, vulgarity escapes him; his anger has been wrung dry, maybe from his earlier walk. The words are in his head, at the tip of his tongue, but he cannot utter them — not to Ignis.

“The video,” he says. _That video of all those guys, and one is fucking you; they all end up fucking you, don’t they?_

Ignis rests his hands in his lap. “I’m not quite sure I’m following you.”

Noctis thought he might say something hurtful — _did you like it when those guys were all over you; touching you and licking you and gods know what else_ — but now, the realization that he will have to explain what he saw is even worse. Because he loves Ignis, loves him so much that he could never say anything to purposefully hurt him. Even insinuating that he might be disgusted by what Ignis does in his personal sex life would be too much for Noctis to bear.

“Don’t make me say it,” Noctis pleads, and when Ignis reaches out to touch him this time, he does not turn away. He leans against him, his hip bumping Ignis’ coffee thermos in the cup holder between them. While Ignis’ hand merely grazes his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, Noctis sinks into him, pulling him closer by the fabric of his shirt.

“Please tell me.” Ignis’ voice above him is soft, and Noctis can smell the richness of his cologne. “I have an idea of what it might be, but I’m hoping it’s not what I think it is.”

Noctis caves, like he knew he would; he describes the events in the video as vaguely as he can, like he is describing the actions of a relative and not the man he has his chin tucked against.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that, Noct. I am appalled, actually. There were promises beforehand to not share the video, of course, but I ended up quite out of it, didn’t I?”

Ignis is trembling beneath him, the movement sending chills down Noctis’ spine. He sits back, unfurling himself from their embrace, and wraps his hands around Ignis’.

“Iggy? You’re shaking.”

“Too much coffee, in all likelihood,” Ignis murmurs. He presses his lips together tightly, attempting to end the discussion, or at least this particular topic.

Again, the words have left Noctis’ mouth before he can think on them too much: “Let me help you.”

“This isn’t something you can just fix, Noct.” The irritation in Ignis’ voice — that reliable, snippy tone — is the same as when he scolds Noctis for staying out too late, like earlier; for making him worry.

Noctis runs his thumbs across the palms of Ignis’ hands. If the circular motions are not soothing Ignis, they are at least somewhat comforting to himself. “Did they...did they hurt you?”

“No, no. It was consensual.”

“It doesn’t sound like it was.”

Ignis snatches his hands away, startling Noctis. “And you weren’t there! You have absolutely no idea what was going on.”

“I want to understand, but you’re making it really difficult,” Noctis says.

“Do you hate me, then?” Ignis pauses, sucking in a garbled breath. “For that? And with so many men.”

Noctis shakes his head. “No, of course not. You’ll always be my...my Iggy. You just seem upset about it.”

“And you’ll always be my prince,” Ignis snaps, then sighs, massaging his forehead with his hands. “It really is getting late.”

There is something heavy in the air between them, choking Noctis and weighing him down. Every time he tries to squeeze a bit more information from Ignis, his frustration seems to rise. At this rate, Noctis feels like a terrible hindrance; whether or not he really had to tell Ignis he saw the video crosses his mind. Noctis knows he can be troublesome, but he does not want this secret — this hidden side of Ignis he never knew about — to drive a wedge between them.

“I just want to know why you kept this from me.” A final attempt to pry open fire. “If it’s the kinkiness of it, well, you just said the other day, right? Everyone has their ‘thing.’ And if it’s about the guys, I’m not, y’know —”

“Yes, Noct. I know you're not straight.” Noctis stares at Ignis, his mouth agape. “What? Did you think you were being sneaky about it? As if the whole blasted Citadel doesn’t know at this point. I mean, really.”

His own secret is out then, too; it is no wonder Ignis’ temper has been so short with him. Noctis’ incessant love for one of his closest friends has finally turned against him, and he had thought only Prompto and Gladio knew.

Ignis clears his throat, his eyes looking out through the windshield in front of him. His hands grab onto the steering wheel again, as if he can drive his way right out of this conversation. “Why, just a few weeks ago I actually happened to be — or maybe you don’t want to hear this story? It’s quite comical, I assure you, or at least it is in theory. I was cleaning up in your bathroom when I heard you and Prompto speaking in the living room. Arguing, then — I don’t think I have to fill in the rest, do I? It was on a Friday, if that helps jog your memory.”

Not his Ignis secret, then, but one only a fraction less mortifying to be caught in the act of consummating. Noctis combs through his memories of Fridays past, wondering if Ignis’ experience could coincide with what occurred a few weeks ago.

_Oh, gods. Oh, gods — Ignis._

“I do hope you are good to him,” Ignis is saying, as Noctis breaks out in a panic-induced sweat. “He is very doting, and protective of you.”

“And you didn’t hear anything else?” Noctis asks. “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“You say that as if it is a usual occurrence for me to be the unwilling observer of your sexual encounters.”

“A name!” Noctis yells, his voice echoing within the confines of the car, then he lowers his voice: “Did you hear...a name?”

Ignis licks his bottom lip, drawing Noctis’ eyes to the gesture. He leans toward Noctis, his voice deep and low as he says, “Not that I heard, no.”

The seat below Ignis creaks as he moves closer; so close Noctis can feel the warmth of his breath sweeping across his face.

“I’m not dating Prompto,” Noctis says, his voice flat as he holds Ignis’ gaze. He does not look away.

“I had figured that, from your shouting about names.”

One of Ignis’ hands is on his face now, a feather-light touch along the span of his jaw. Noctis’ eyes begin to slip shut — the desire to let the moment wash him away nearly overwhelms him — but he does not succumb. He reciprocates the touch, his fingers starting at Ignis’ temple, then carding through his hair softly. Ignis is the first to close his eyes as he tilts his head toward Noctis’ hand.

“I’m hoping I won’t have to tell you whose name I was saying, after all,” Noctis says as he brings his other hand to Ignis’ shoulder, creeping it up along his collarbone to fidget with the chain of his necklace.

“No, I suppose you don’t. But I would like nothing more than to hear it.”

A name, a word, a confession; finally, relief. A massive weight lifts from Noctis’ shoulders, after pining for so long.

“Ignis.”

Before Noctis can finish the “s” sound — before his tongue can meet the back of his teeth to unleash the final syllable — Ignis’ mouth is on his. When Noctis drags Ignis closer, deeper into the kiss, he does so by absentmindedly pulling at his hair. Ignis groans into his lips, wrapping his arms around Noctis, crushing him against his chest. They pause for a mere moment, sucking in the much needed air, before resuming their kiss.

All around Noctis is Ignis: his smell, his taste, his touch. Ignis pulls Noctis up and over the center console onto his lap; their kiss becomes more haphazard now as Noctis flails in his arms, trying not to knock over the coffee cup, and failing. Whether or not it still had coffee in it, Ignis ignores it as it tumbles into the darkness of the car.

“Is this real?” Ignis gasps against Noctis’ open mouth. “Is it, truly?”

Noctis kisses him again. “I hope so.”

Their hands wander, with Ignis’ ending up at the hem of Noctis’ shirt, his fingers maneuvering their way up the skin on Noctis’ stomach. Before Ignis can make it past his waist, Noctis takes off his shirt and tosses it to join the lost coffee cup. Without a barrier, Ignis’ hands are free to roam, and Noctis’ own are unfastening the various buttons on Ignis’ dress shirt.

Before Noctis can stop himself, his hips are moving against Ignis', to which Ignis responds by pausing his exploration of Noctis’ chest. The air is still and quiet as Noctis realizes what he has done, and the embarrassment heats his face, but then Ignis’ hand is on his belt buckle. Ignis reaches into Noctis' underwear, pulling out his length then begins stroking him, which causes Noctis to buck his hips into Ignis’ hand. He cannot kiss like this; oxygen has left him, and he has to pull back.

Noctis has never been loud in intimate situations, but this time is different. This time it is Ignis touching him — Ignis all around him, kissing him, tasting him — and the mere thought of it being Ignis himself has sent his usual instincts right out the door. He grunts and moans, the sounds low but audible as Ignis tightens his grip. Just once, Noctis attempts to lock their lips again, craving the taste that is so unique to Ignis, but the air in his lungs refuses to cooperate. He compromises by kissing up and down Ignis’ neck, his keening sounds so close to Ignis’ ear that the man shivers beneath him.

Willing himself to last longer to no avail, Noctis spills into Ignis’ hand and onto the seat of the car. His hands clutch at Ignis’ shoulders, pulling the fabric of his shirt so tightly he pops off one of the final buttons waiting to be unsheathed.

This is one of his dad’s favorite cars, too, which is what he should have thought about before becoming intimate, especially when they are less than a minute or so elevator ride away from his apartment building. But it is too late for that now, and Ignis, as well-prepared as ever, is dabbing the seats with some napkins he keeps in the compartment on the car door.

“Before any more hasty decisions, I propose we retire to your apartment.” Ignis glances at Noctis, as if the situation is his fault, for tempting him in such a way that he could never refuse. Before, Noctis would have argued with such a look — with a whine, with a sigh — but now, he just kisses him; again and again, until they are both left panting.

The trip up to Noctis’ apartment is much less humiliating than he had thought it would be: no other tenants meet them in the elevator, and they are free to share quick kisses and subtle touches — a brush of the hand here, and a gentle shoulder nudge there — without interruption.

Even inside the apartment, there are few words shared between them, and although Noctis relishes the skin on skin contact as Ignis brings their now-bare chests together once he has discarded his shirt, he finds that he misses the words. The metal of Ignis’ skull necklace bites into his clavicle, and for now, it is the most beautiful pain he has ever felt; distinctly Ignis, and entirely their own.

“I just have one question, I guess,” Noctis says, peeling himself away from Ignis enough to not be as tempted to forego words altogether. He eyes Ignis’ bare chest, stopping at the fine hairs along the waistband of his pants.

Ignis responds, “Anything,” as he brings Noctis’ hands up to his lips, and although Ignis has always assured him of his loyalty to him, Noctis has never felt quite as much of a prince as he does now.

“It’s about the guys in the video,” Noctis admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks anywhere but into Ignis’ eyes. “Why so many? I mean, I…”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ignis tilts Noctis’ chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. In the green of Ignis’ eyes is a deep sadness, like a dark, abandoned well. “I was trying to find satisfaction. I could not have you, and thus I tried to —”

“Replace me?”

“Gods, no. Never. A million men could never hold a candle to you — do you understand what I mean?” A deep, shaky breath as Ignis squeezes Noctis’ hands in his own. “A single kiss from you gives me more pleasure than I have ever experienced in my entire life.”

“Are you saying you’ll stop, then?” Noctis sashays his hips in an exaggerated manner, nearly toppling over, and yet Ignis’ eyes are drawn to the motion, regardless.

A kiss, soft and sweet, then: “That is a cruel joke, and you know it. But I have a question for you, if you’ll have it.”

Noctis leads him into the bedroom, pulling him onto the bed after he has skillfully evaded the various piles of trash in the room as only he can, then nods, breathless.

“After seeing all that you saw, why would you still want to be with someone like me?”

 _I was never mad at you_ , Noctis thinks. _I was just jealous._

“Because I love you,” Noctis answers, without thinking, and yet with his whole heart, pulling Ignis into yet another kiss.


End file.
